Pendragon, or, The carpet knight his kalendar

May's CANTO. (Book 5)

ARGUMENT.

Selena as she lies in Bed Holds Conversation with her Maid: A Visit puts her out of Order. Taking the Air, who then should board her, But Sir Pendragon, by the Way? All in the merry Month of May.

CANTO. (Book 5)

TIs sit the Business of the State On that of mightier Love's should wait; While we are treating of Amours, On Politicks to shut the Doors, And not to suffer them to enter At Times when they impertinent are.

The glorious Lamp of Heaven, the Sun, Bright in at Chamber▪ window shone, E'er Madam does one Ray disclose, But fast lock'd up in deep Repose Senses and Beauties all lay hid, In Blankets, Sheets, and Coverlid.

Mean while her Handmaid, who lay nigh, In a small dark Apartment by, From out her Bed in silence slips, With Petty-coats about her Hips; Softly she came, and draws the Curtain, Finding her Mistriss fast and snorting, In a low Voice she Madam cries, Good Madam, when d' you mean to rise? Selena then stirr'd, and began To stretch her self, and sigh, and yawn, To scratch her Bosom, Arms, and Neck, And opening of her Eyes, she spake; Curse on you for a silly Whore; Speak, What a Devil d' wake me for?

Troth, Madam, then quoth Thomasine, I'll take my Oath, 'tis after Nine; But if you find your Eye-lids heavy, I'll go away again, and leave you.

No, Housewife, you can do no worse; Judge if you don't deserve a Curse. Ah Wench! but just before you wak'd me, Methoughts a War-like Man attack'd me; Fierce, like the fam'd St. George, when I Did, like the Dragon at him fly, Tearing and biting with my Teeth, And grappling till I wanted Breath. Quite tir'd, I by main Strength was thrown Flat underneath the Champion: And who knows what had been my Doom, Had not you come into the Room?

'Twas in good time (quoth Thom'sine) then, Or my poor Lady had been slain. In stead of raising of your Anger, Thank me, that you are out of danger.

But may I speak my Mind t' you freely? This Dreaming, Madam, 's very silly, And only serves to make you talk, Like one who feeds on Dirt and Chalk. Was Beauty giv'n you, and warm Blood, Nor for your own nor others good? In such a Frolick Age as this, Who durst report, you do amiss? As if the sooty Pottage-pot Would mock the Kettle for its Smut. Not, Madam, but one would abhor The broad and common Name of Whore, That's seldom giv'n, but to the Poor. 'Tis thousand Pities you should cumber Your self with your Virgin'ty's Lumber, And carry ev'ry Night to Bed An aking, irksom Maidenhead, Which plagues its Keeper, but when gone Nor troubles her, nor any one. Are not you pleas'd with this Advice?

Softly, the Lady then replies,

By this Instruction one may guess well The Frailty of thy Earthen Vessel; And thy Advice most plainly speaks, Thy Pitcher's crackt, and therefore leaks: But, Thomasine, she foully does ill, Who measures mine by her own Bushel. Thou mak'st Reflections on thy Mistriss, As if she was reduc'd to Distress. Has any one more Liberty Or Freedom in her Choice than I? Whether my Fortune 'tis, or Favour, Or something else which has the Savour To draw so many Supplicants Upon me, to relieve their Wants, And daily bring me in Addresses, Both from the smooth and wither'd Faces, 'Tis not so easie to discover The Cause that animates the Lover. However, know, that 'tis decreed By Fate, (with all convenient speed) Nought shall resist my Vows to wed.

I'll see them all; to whom I find My self most furiously inclin'd, Him from among the Heard I'll chuse, and Ev'n take him for my Wedded Husband: Rather the Hazard run of Marriage, Than of a Clap, or a Miscarriage. If Matrimony, in conclusion, Agrees not with my Constitution, Then I'll turn Tail against its Force, And take a clear contrary Course.

This Resolution's very sudden (Quoth Thom'sine) and perhaps a good one: For Wedlock is (tho so sought after) The greatest Lottery in Nature.

Let Fools depend (Madam replies) Upon their Luck in Lotteries: If any thing occurs of ill, By my Prerogative, my Will, I'll either overcome it quite, Or move my self out of its sight.

Since almost every Faculty But Will, to Woman they deny, Can they expect she'll That surrender To their imperious Masc'line Gender? Or less than unto Death maintain It, tho' fantastical and vain.

Quoth Thomasine, these strange Perswasions Will plague you upon all Occasions; Let them seem ne'er so Great and Noble, You'll find them bring prodigious Trouble. For while without Controll, Dispute, Or Whartle, you rule Absolute, What precious Qual'ties would you have Endow your conjugated Slave?

I'd have him (quoth Selena) be In his own Government as free; Our Wills act in a diff'rent Sphere, And one to th' others ne'er come near. Then, to be sure, he must be rich: Poverty's worse than Pox or Itch,

Palsie, Deformity, or Frenzy, Folly, or Insufficiency. Of ancient Family descended, Or by his Money so befriended, To buy himself Titles of Worth, To hide th' Obscurity of Birth.

Sir Grog'ram's such a piece of Stuff; He's rich, and passable enough; And there's least Cause to be afraid Of marrying one who drives a Trade; When there's no danger of his Failure, I shall not stand in awe of's Valour.

Young Parrot has a fair Estate; But 'tis a Fop so full of Prate, So disagreeable a Person, He very much is my Aversion.

There's no Man pays me such Devoirs As Serjeant Wigeon, 'mongst the Lawyers;

But wo be to his wedded Wife, Now he has laid aside his Coif, And spends whole Nights in Broils and Roaring, In Taverns, and in double Whoring.

Since Age (if not too much decay'd) You can dispense with, (quoth the Maid) Pray, Madam, how d' you like Squire Hugh?

Fough! Nasty Fellow, I shall spue, (Quoth she.) Nay, (answer'd Thomasine) You wrong him; for he's very clean, And neither Money wants, nor Wit.

No matter, do not make me spit, (Said she.) And going on with more, They hear a Rapping at the Door. Up Thomasine starts, holds fast the Latch, And crys, Who are you there? A Wretch, (Quoth Voice without) an humble Slave, The very'st. Vassal that you have.

(Which Voice betray'd, it being a hoarse one, The Devil they did last discourse on.

Hah! Hugo! (then the Lady said) Enter not here; I'm in my Bed: Without another VVord be gone, And leap from Top to Bottom down. This is no time a Day to visit, Unless y' had Bus'ness to sollicit.

And so I have (quoth he:) My Heart Is wholly yours. (Quoth she) A Fart; And swell'd, as if she'd burst with Choler, For want of utt'rance of her Dolour.

While Hugh without doors says he'll thank her If she'll assuage her cruel Rancour; And promis'd, he would straightways leave her, Provided she will grant the Favour To condescend to bless his Eyes VVith a View of her as she lies:

Engaging not t' advance one Step. Selena agrees to let him peep: But tipt the VVink, and made a Sign VVell understood by Thomasine; VVho plaid her part, and pinch'd full sore His Noddle 'twixt the Post and Door; But let him draw it back, for fear Of damaging the surdous Ear. Now while the Maid secures the Lock, The Lady leaps out in her Smock VVith all speed possible, puts on Her Shooes, and her loose-body'd Gown, Advancing, threw the Door wide open, And bid her Maid she should not stop him. Enrag'd, she vents her fell Displeasure, Thus rounding him beyond all Measure.

Can you conceive that I'll dispense VVith this unequal'd Impudence, To me, of making your Pretence?

As well the Cobler might address Himself with Passion to Queen Bess, And hope from her as good Success. Thy Phiz, more tough than Parents Leather, Is able to out-wear the Weather, Out-face the bright Meridian Sun, When lowing Herds to Coverts run: 'Tis such, no Scandal, Guilt, nor Shame, Can pump up Blush into the same.

Hold, and contain your self, (quoth he) You're out of Breath with Raillery: Come, pretty Lady, you must lack it; A Virgin may say Nay and take it.

(Quoth she) Be gone, thou filthy Monster Fly from my sight; for if I once stir My Foot, and on the Board stamp thrice, Footmen with Cudgels shall arise, To give the swinging Bastinado, For which if thou art pleas'd to stay, do.

(Quoth he) Since you're so humoursom, Farewell; I say no more but, Mum. I know you'll look, for all you're vext, More kindly when I see you next. And Mistriss Thomasine, with a P—x, I sha'n't forget your Christmas-Box. And thus compell'd the Field to quit, He made inglorious Retreat.

So Tory, when he would prevail For kind Caresses, waggs his Tail; But when his Master chides, he flags, And sneaking claps it 'twixt his Legs.

Selena too as much put out is Of humour; first i' th' Hoititoities She rants, and swears, and stares, and flings About her Clothes, and tears her Things; Breaks China, clatters Looking-glasses, And calls him Twenty thousand Asses.

Thom'sine, to put her by this Chafing, Set Thumbs to Sides, and fell a laughing. At that, the Lady on a sudden Chang'd her bad Humour for a good one; Bursts out into a Fit of Laughter, And eas'd her self by making Water. Gets on her Clothes with little pains, Drest a-la-mode en negligence, With a lac'd Scarf and Vizor-Masque on, She gathers up her Galligascoins, And in St. Iames's Park she walks, Where, by the Ponds of Ducks and Drakes, By lucky Chance, and help of Scout, Bold Sir Pendragon finds her out; Who bearing up unto her close, Strikes Sail, and then attack's her thus:

Sweet Lady, whose Perfumes environ Your Slaves, and draw like Grapling-iron, When you have boarded us per Force, Pray how d' you use your Prisoners?

Those who have Worth (quoth she) I rifle, Others I value not a trifle.

Being yours (quoth he then) by Reprisal, Tell me my Doom. (Quoth she) Go whistle For I believe you have no Treasure Of value, nor in Weight, nor Measure.

And so, perhaps, you'll lose (quoth he) A Prize, thro' Infidelity.

I may (said she) do so, perhaps; But Taste is flat in wither'd Grapes: And no Knight ever won my Grace Of th' Order of th' Ill-favour'd Face.

Well, (quoth Sir Knight) this your Reflexion, I grant, would be enough to vex one Who has no other able Talents, That may with handsom Features balance.

But Worth in Secret often lies.

You'd fain insinuate (she replies) That you're possest of Treasure hidden, Which is too good to be forbidden, And bear about you conceal'd Merit, Relating to your Flesh, or Spirit. The first I must suppose but weak; The latter for its self can speak: For Nothing's less a Secret, than The vast Productions of your Brain; Which, like a common Prostitute, Yields daily most unwholesom Fruit: Of which throughout the Kingdom surfeits; And it encreases, not cures her Fits; Altho' the Press no Prints produces For more Variety of Uses. To Pies and Tarts your Papers cling, And make Band-boxes Covering; Beside the many thousand Pages Back-side receives, and Privy lodges.

Since then sufficiently you're known, I need not bid you to be gone, And haste home to your Pen and Ink-horn. He star'd like Devil over Lincoln, His Speech being stopp'd thro' Wrath & Wonder. They parted several Ways asunder. Thus Days, and Hours, and Minutes fly, While the Sun goes thro' Gemini, To all alike not pleasantly. Great Wits, as well as Heroe's Great, Are never always Fortunate.